Go My Own Way
by AmicableAlien
Summary: She was a spy who had just gained her courage only to lose her freedom. He was a bitter mercenary who should have been a noble Prince. She wanted to kill him. He should have killed her. And they should have never fallen in love.
1. Prologue: The Storyteller

The old storyteller crouched low by the flames, his dark skin burning bright with the flickering fire. The women curled around him, like a crab's claw, straining to hear the shush-hushing voice and the half-whispered words. Most of these stories they knew: tales of the Avatar, Zuko and Katara, two opposites who loved more fiercely than the sun burned; and of the Blind Bandit, who had risen from the darkness to shine as bright as day to stand by the Avatar's side. 

It was many years now since those events had taken place. Man had died three times since the oldest of the Avatar's followers had passed on to the Spirit World. The World had changed: great cities had fallen and greater cities now stood in their place. Yet here he was: this wizened twig of a man who squatted and told them all he knew, all about those dark days when fire ruled the land and terror was a daily occurrence.

But the usual stories –– the ones everyone knew –– were not so quick to the storyteller's lips tonight. He seemed lost, far away. His eyes darted everywhere, from the silent mountains to the leaping heat of the embers. The  
women drew in their breaths, waiting, waiting for another tale of the two lovers. But still he said nothing.

"Why so quiet, old man!"" Sells demanded, her broad palm hitting the tightly packed earth. "Haven't we fed you enough? Is that it?"

The man turned quiet eyes to the women. "Nay, sisters. You've fed me well."

"Are you thirsty? Do you need wine to oil your tongue?"

Again, the man was unmoved. "Nay, sister. I need no wine."

"Then come on, old man! Tell us of the two lovers!"

The man blinked as if struck. "Which lovers?" He asked, his voice, with its strange accent, gentle.

A low grumble broke out, like gathering thunder. "Zuko and Katara, of course! The two who loved so fiercely that the very earth would shatter before they would be broken apart!"

With a smile of knowledge, the old man shook his head. These women didn't understand. They were ignorant, not knowing that these people, these lovers were real. They treated them like stories, scorning to believe in them for fear that they would be branded dreamers. ""My sisters, they were not the only ones who loved so fiercely. There were others. There was one from my valley."

The women snorted, unimpressed. "A peasant, in love with another peasant!" scoffed Sells. ""We don't feed you to hear of peasants, storyteller. We want to hear of kings and ladies and brave princes!"

The man smiled again, as full of knowledge as a packed basket of fruit. "But this is about a Prince. He was tall and proud and brave. Ah, but my Prince, this prince, he was as full of shame and unease, as the sky is full of glittering stars. He wandered everyday, with his men, with his belongings, fighting for whoever would pay him. For that is the way of the mercenary and that was the way he lived."

"Silly!" Fri tossed her long hair back with a scowl. "What Prince would live the life of a mercenary?"

The old man looked upon her and his eyes were grave. "All men must walk a twisting path before they reach happiness. And so it was with my Prince: Prince Lu Ten."

Staring into the flames, Uyeda, who had been Earth Kingdom, who had forgotten his people, forgotten his country for one man, began to tell his story.

"Night had fallen hard the night that Haneli –– Si-getaka, Jon-myeun, Daughter of the Northern-born –– first came among us. We were tired, for it had been a long day, full of marching and training…"


	2. Night Attack

_**Yes! The second – or is it the first? – chapter is here all thanks to the wonderful and ever appreciated services of my beta reader SongoftheDarquePhoenix who's checking and pointers gave me the confidence in this chapter. Thank you! I know I've said it already but you are brilliant! **_

_**Enjoy the chapter! **_

--

The leader was a tall man, and spare. No excess fat clung to his knotted body. Cords of muscles ridged under the skin, rock hard after so many months in the field. He carried few weapons; only the knives, lying flat along his body. Poisoned, of course. They took no chances, not on this mission.

In the low valley below them, the target was sleeping. Three fires smouldered, casting weird shapes and shadows onto the tents. There was a sentry there too: young, tired. A pity that he was so young. But no matter. He would die, like they all would. This would be one band that would never raise a hand against his homeland again.

The Hawk fingered his knife hilts one more time, his fingers tingling in anticipation. His eyes brightened in the dark and a small smile curved across his face. He wondered if he would mourn their deaths. Sometimes, he did. It was difficult not to mourn talent. This particular problem was skilled, they said. A Master of the Swords… He hadn't fought one of them for a long time.

"They're ready, Hawk." The Bear's throaty whisper behind him made the green eyed man smile. "All of them."

"Good." The silver blades made barely a sound as they slid back into the leather sheaths. The old spy raised his hand to his partner's face and brushed the beaten skin gently. His forefinger trailed along the curve of her cheek and fell. Steady brown eyes looked into his and he nodded. "We attack… five minutes."

"Five minutes." She agreed, tapping his hand away. "They'll be ready."

He smirked at her and turned back. There was a camp to watch. Tomorrow, he would follow it up.

* * *

Haneli puffed against her chilled fingers. It was the only way to get warm. Stretching attracted too much attention. A fire sent up smoke. So the grey eyed Earth Bender chafed her cold hands together and firmly stopped thinking about the attack. Well, firmly enough anyway.

This was her third mission with a partner. Kalinkan spies followed a strict order: two missions one your own, then they match you up. The first two missions were as easy as they could provide: reconnaissance in occupied territory, ambush on a minor scale. It served the purpose though. They could tell how you acted, who you needed and so who you needed to match up.

So far, she had survived nearly two years of this. That was good: sometimes an agent only lasted two months.

She had been a difficult case to match. Or so she had been told. There had never been a spy who could Earth Bend before, not in the Kalinkan service. That made it difficult for her and for them. It had taken an extra long mission and three aching weeks of searching before they had found him.

Li Kanaye, the Fox, or Dendran, as he was known on the job. Smooth talking, charming and noble. Noble in more way than one too. His family ruled the Kalinkan social and trading life. Li ships used to trade all over the world and the entire clan spent more on sweetmeats and confections than her entire village survived on for a year. Second son, best loved son. He was born lucky… and safe.

"Hey," Warm air brushed past her ear. She stiffened for a moment and then relaxed, her shoulders drooping slightly. Kanaye settled down beside her, his long cloak hiding his curved and hooked knives. Like the Hawk, he favoured the traditional _ujita_ hand knives. Small enough to hide in the palm of your hand and light enough to carry many at a time without tiring, they were perfectly balanced, doubling up as throwing blades and hand knives. Perfect.

A warm hand tapped her shoulder. "Nervous?"

"Me?" The grey eyed girl pulled a weak face. "No way. Why should I?"

He grinned and tried to ignore the churning in his belly. "Point taken." Burrowing his hands deeper into the black cloak, Kanaye pursed his lips at the sky. "No moon."

"Of course."

"D'you want… you know. The usual?"

A small smile flickered across her face. "Just add on one thing for them, will you?"

"Shoot."

"Tell them… gah! Just tell them I love them." Forest Wolf glanced over at her partner. "You too?"

"Yeah. Like they'll care." The Fox plucked his cloak closer, shifting closer to his partner for warmth. "My mother might. But Shima? He'll just be glad. That's another potential contender out of the way, oh ho, the way's clearer…"

"Stop that. You know he loves you." Haneli wrinkled her nose. "In… in his own way, I suppose."

The cold Fox puffed a mist of air into the night and ignored her. His relationship with his brother was… complicated. He didn't like to talk about it more than necessary. It was easier letting people pretend they understood than trying to explain.

Haneli sighed and curled her head into her arms. Two minutes to the attack. Her internal clock ticked away the seconds. They slipped away like falling leaves, keeping in time with her heartbeats. Thirty seconds, twenty, ten. If she could concentrate hard enough, she could hear the sound of her own blood, pulsing under the delicate skin by her wrist.

One minute.

In her past missions she had felt no regret for what she was doing. It was justified, she had argued with herself, by their own actions. The Fire Nation had ripped her family apart, stolen her parents, and exiled her from her home. They deserved it. They deserved more.

She still felt no regret. No guilt. These people were guilty. They followed a Fire Nation man, fought for the Fire Nation, hurt her country. They lost any significance as people when they did that. They were nothing.

It scared her when she realised how cold she had become. But that was the price, wasn't it? For everything good to be achieved, something, someone must die. It was faster that way.

"Time to go." The low growl rumbled from the Bear. The old spy exchanged a glance with her partner, looking for confirmation. The Hawk nodded his head again. That was all she needed.

"Move out!"

The ten-strong band broke up, dividing into twos. That was how Kalinkan spies worked. They trusted no one but their own partner. It yielded results: they were the best in the continent.

Haneli ignored the wet grass slapping against her bare feet. The bottoms of her trousers were soon soaked in the early morning dew, clinging to her numbed skin. She had few weapons and missed the comforting grip of a knife in her hand. Her partner dodged ahead of her, not pausing. They ran silently. Bare feet barely lifted from the ground, saving their energy, minimising their noise.

They were nearly there. She could almost smell the victory.

* * *

"Help! Help! We're under attack!"

The shout was enough to send a cold spear of fear piercing through Lu Ten's belly. For a moment, he was frozen in the spot, the warm blankets scratching against his skin. Then he was gone. The sword hilts were smooth and well worn in his hands… almost comforting, if you had a morbid turn of mind.

Right now, he didn't have that luxury.

He was outside, the night air cool on his skin. Prickles of cold whispered up his spine and he repressed a shiver. Swaying shadows merged into human forms all around him. They flitted back and forth, fading into nothing, dancing into sharp life. He felt lost just thinking about it.

Suddenly a gleam of silver shone against the orange embers and a tall shadow barrelled into him. All the breath in his body thrust out. He felt sick and hollow without it. The deadly blades reached high. For a fraction of a second, his enemy was motionless, rejoicing in their quick victory.

He acted more on instinct than technique. There was no time to think. No time to dream up strategies. Drawing his swords in one fluid movement, the mercenary swept them across his enemy's body. It was a brutal move. But it worked.

His attacker was dead before he hit the ground.

He touched the gaping wound gently, feeling his blood pumping through the rough clothes. Green eyes lost focus, dulled. His hand was covered in the scarlet blood. It slid through his skin, sliding between the grooves of his fingers. He looked surprised as he watched it.

"It… It wasn't meant to be this… this way… all wrong…" The voice died along with its owner. He fell in a heap to the ground, his knees buckling down, the muscles losing all strength. It was awkward and clumsy, like a broken puppet. Death was so undignified in a battle.

Lu Ten barely looked at the rebel. He had seen men die before and knew he would see it again. So long as it wasn't one of his own men, he didn't care. Enemies he could replace easily. Followers? Not so easily.

There was another shout, piercing high above the roar. He ran towards it, chill determination steeling any regrets he might have had.

* * *

When they finally met, it was at the edge of the fight. He had fought his way through the pitched battles, his swords flashing against the stars and fires. It had been difficult, he knew that. The rebels were fighting fiercely.

But his men were too. After all, they were fighting for their lives.

He was breathing heavily by now. Great shuddering breaths, dragging oxygen into his shattered lungs. She was the same. She could feel tiredness seep into her bones. The stringy, heavy tiredness that stops you from moving, the type that drags you down to the ground. It had been a hard fight. It had been a hard fight even before attack. A fight to keep concentration in the long hours of tracking, a fight not to fall asleep and miss the call.

Grey eyes looked up and found another enemy waiting for her. Waiting? No, that was wrong. He was watching her. She felt a brief tensing of fear. He could see her.

The spy trainers of Kalinka had many rules one how to survive in the outside. Some hit against each other, conflicting constantly. _Light a fire. Under no circumstances are you to light a fire._ Others were pure common sense. _Mud is your friend, students. Use it well. _But one order remained constant.

_Never let them see your full potential._ Hide. Deceive. Act weak… then strike.

Unfair, perhaps. But effective. In her past two years, she'd learnt that the latter mattered far more.

Bare feet padded into the pressed grass, the shadows hiding her. They circled each other, waiting. Grey eyes flickered across him, searching for a twitch, the subtle shift of muscle under his skin. Anything that could help her defeat him. Anything that would kill him.

Unfortunately, he'd been a soldier too long. The instinct for survival had taken root and flourished, pushing him to train harder. Every move, he had practised over and over again until he could begin without warning. It became fluid as water, flowing through his arms.

There was no warning as he attacked. Haneli felt the panic close her throat as the tall mercenary came towards her. The swords flashed against the flames. It was like he was creating a maze of danger. She had no where to turn. There was no where to turn. Desperation clogged her mind. She didn't want to die. Not yet. It was too soon, oh Hatai…

Her foot slammed down on the ground. The move was pure instinct… and stupid.

A low rumble shook the ground, taking the mercenary off balance. Surprise fell over him like a shock of cold water. The girl was a _Bender. _Why had she been holding back? Why hadn't she attacked him before now? It didn't make sense.

And now she was just standing there, glaring at the ground. Right in the middle of a battle, enemies all around her, a madman with swords right in front of her and she was glaring at the ground. Completely oblivious. He felt a low chuckle bubble up in his throat and coughed in surprise.

It was the cough that did it.

He wasn't surprised when she dodged in close to him, her hand raised and stiff. He could see her shoulder lifting in anticipation, see her shift her weight ever so slightly onto her right leg. A simple move and easy to deflect…

Like… that.

A step to the side and the iron hilt connected with her neck so neatly, like a bizarre dance pattern. She barely made a sound. The gasp of pain was so soft it couldn't be heard. Not over the battle, not over the shouts from her own partner.

The world closed in on her. It was like she was in a box and someone was shutting the lid down… Everything was darkening and all she could feel was the pain and the ground rushing up to her elbows…

And nothing.


	3. I Say Kill Her

"I say kill her."

"You always say that."

"She's dangerous!" The coarse voice cracked with exasperation. "The moment she wakes up, half the camp's goin' t'be 'round our ears and you - yes, you, my lord! - will be dead. "

"And you're sure of that, Tong?"

"Sure?" A loud snort. "Never more sure. You can't trust them, my lord. These spies they send out - I've seen them work! Give 'em a helping hand one minute and it'll be a knife in your back the next. Quick an' painful and then we'll be short of one leader, won't we? If you think I'm goin' to let scum-trash like Rechyo take over the band, you've got another think comin', my lord…"

"Tong." The voice was softer now, different accent. The man sighed deeply before continuing. "How many times?"

"There's no good in forgettin' where you come from. My old man taught me that an' it's held me in good stead…"

"If you call me 'my lord' one more time, Tong," The second voice cut through the gruff mumbling like a blade. "This band will be short one member."

"Oh, there's gratitude!" The older man grumbled one more time, determined to have the last word. After that, however, he fell silent, yellow-brown eyes following the commander carefully. Lu Ten rolled his eyes as his sergeant's show of obedience. It would not last long, he knew that. Tomorrow, his sergeant would be dragging up the word again, making snide comments about returning home, reminding Lu Ten of what he had given up.

"There's a letter."

"What?"

"A LETTER." Tong bellowed the word out. His face coloured red with frustration. "A scroll wi' writin' on it from some noble General or other."

A dark red seal clattered against the parchment as the sergeant held out his package. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Lu Ten picked up the yellowing scroll and scanned the flowing scribe-written characters with an ease that Tong envied. The stocky former-corporal waited patiently as Lu Ten finished reading the letter. The young commander's scowl deepened as he continued down the message. Finally he threw it away in disgust and spat onto an exposed patch of grass.

"Not good news."

"Very good news. We're wanted."

"Who's it this time?"

Unrolling the letter once more, Lu Ten read the elaborately cursive script. "General Han Yuan of the Eighth Battalion, Lord of Kotzan, Hawk of the Fire Nation… The list goes on."

"So, my lord?"

"We break camp in two days." Lu Ten heaved himself out of the rickety chair, leaving the paper open on his tiny desk. "It'll take us a week to get to the fort. The General wants us there in time for the new Moon. He intends to launch an attack then."

"He said that?"

"No, but he's too stupid to hide his intentions. Agni!" The black-haired mercenary swore suddenly, grabbing the leather straps of his broadsword sheaths. "How can that man still be in the same office with incompetence like that?"

Tong snorted and ducked under the rough cloth flap, following the boss out into the bright sunshine. "Money."

"True…Rechyo!" Lu Ten let out a sudden bellow.

"Yeah, boss?" A brown-haired man looked up from his fierce sparring bout with a thin dark-skinned boy. The red-dyed hank of hair was flicked out of his face as he pressed the boy closer to the ground, his greater strength forcing the green-eyed teenager to his knees.

"He's a Earth clod, not a punchbag, Rechyo. Take it easier on him."

"It's…" Another shove and the boy's knees gave way, toppling him onto the ground. Rechyo, catching his balance with practised ease, stood back, a smug smile plastered over his face. "It's only the way it is, boss. Boy has to keep up. Enemy ain't going to go easy on him 'cause he's young." Replace the word 'young' with 'a bowl of rotting maggots'. Rechyo unleashed a mouthful of spit on the grass, his disgust sending a dull red flush across the boy's cheeks.

"The boy won't learn a thing if you keep on going so strong, fool." The captain held out a gratefully-grasped hand and dragged the thin strip to his feet. "And you. Keep your wits about you, use your brains. Rechyo's big, heavy, old." The tattooed soldier gritted his teeth behind his captain. "Use your youth. Keep moving; stay out of his reach. Hit and run… but remember: hit hard." The boy said nothing, nodding his head fervently, his green eyes wide. Lu Ten sighed and stepped back. "Again. Lighter this time. Rechyo needs to work on his wind." He sent a wicked grin at the barely puffing soldier and then he was on his way again, making a path through the furiously training mercenaries. The pauses became more and more frequent as Lu Ten stopped to change hand position, fighting technique… anything to give his men better odds of surviving long enough to enjoy their wages.

"You're dodgin'."

"No, I'm not." He muttered, checking the balance of the blade, his eyes squinting in concentration.

"Yes, you _are_." Tong sneezed, the smoke from a nearby fire making his eyes water.

"Green wood."

"_What_?"

"Green wood. That's what's making the fire smoke so badly." Lu Ten handed the sword back to it's waiting owner. "Check the handle."

"I already did that last week, boss."

"Do it again. Or you won't survive the next battle." The man blinked at his captain's blunt answer but nodded his head in agreement. Lu Ten jerked his head is some way that might denote acceptance and strode off… to see about the green wood.

"You were a bit harsh, weren't you?"

"He knows how it is. If he wants to survive everything has to be perfect. Everything."

"Even the soles of his shoes," The tired sergeant muttered, referring to a previous order of Lu Ten's that every man made sure his sandal straps and boot straps were in full working order before going into battle. The Prince attempted a grin.

"At least no one died that day."

"Mmm… good thing, no casualties."

"Yes." They were getting closer to the end tent now. "Picking up good recruits is hard now the Earth Kingdom has finally caught on and started using conscription."

"True."

"Any from the incident?" The question was deceptively casual. Tong saw the tightened line of his master's mouth, the hard stone in those golden eyes and pitied their sole prisoner.

"No. Denzu had a nasty scratch but it's bandaged and healin'. He won't be able t'fight for a while. Restin' up a bit. Apart from that, nothing. Just cuts and bruises."

"Good. The spies?"

"Buried. Some got away."

"Any chance of catching them?"

"Not Kalinkan ones, my lord. They come and go too quiet. Best say nothing and hope we've scared them off."

The taller man snorted in disgust, ducking down outside the last tent. Tong sighed, following him.

"I know you don't like it, my lord, but it's for the best."

"…It grates," Lu Ten muttered, slipping his swords from his shoulders, his back still facing the unconscious girl.

"You don't have the armies of the Fire Nation behind you any more, my lord. You've got to think like a mercenary, not a general."

"I know, I know…" Lu Ten shoved his hair back, rubbing his eyes with tiredness. After the attack, he hadn't slept for the rest of the night. By the time the sun rose, he was still scouting out, shouting orders and organising his men, terrified that the wave of spies would come back. "Think like a mercenary."

Tong nodded. Glancing down, his brown eyes scanned the limp bundle of cloth that was their lone prisoner. Ragged brown hair covered the face, hiding her features from the world. The rest of her was swamped by the layers of rough brown wool, the only variation being the small heron sewn on the inside of her collar. A dead give-away. "So what are you going to do with her?"

"Any suggestions?" That was the closest Lu Ten felt he could come to a joke.

"I say kill her."

"You have a one track mind, sergeant."

"She's a complication. We have enough complications right about now, you _know_ that. You bring that girl in and keep and we'll have more Earth Kingdom attacks than the rest of the Fire Nation army. And what about her? The men follow you, my lord, but only to a point…"

"Tong!"

"If you keep her here, boss, she's as much danger to you as to herself. Those men you have, they're not angels! She stays here and they'll have her on her back. You can't watch her all day! She's not worth it – She's just some Earth Kingdom spy… She'd slit your throat as soon as you'd try and touch her…"

There was a soft pause and he continued, quieter this time, "Unless that's what you want?"

A bark of laughter. "To have my throat slit? No, thank you! I've survived too long not prize my life a little bit more than I did."

"You know what I mean. If you want her in your bed…"

"Her? Look at her, Tong! She's stinking…"

"Never stopped me…"

"Mmm…" Lu Ten looked down at the girl, still reluctant to touch her. "When should she wake up?"

"Don't know. Soon?"

"Not soon enough. Wake her up."

Tong blinked. "Why?"

"Why should I need a reason?" Lu Ten asked recklessly, his eyes not leaving the girl. "She's a prisoner. Wake her up."

"Why don't you do it?" Tong crouched down, a bucket of water well within reach. "Huh? She's as close to you as to me, my lord."

Lu Ten's stare hardened into a fierce glare. "Obey your orders, sergeant." He growled. "You should know better."

Tong sighed and grabbed the bucket. "Well then, pardon me, I'm sure, my Prince, but she has been given the medicine?" He muttered, the sarcasm fading out into genuine fear.

The Prince made an impatient gesture. "Of course, she got it as soon as we could."

"No problems?"

"None."

If the answer was perhaps a bit shorter and more gruff than normal, Tong did not comment on it. Instead, the North Island national picked up the crude wooden bucket that wobbled on the rough ground beside his leg. With cool, pragmatic movements, he poured the freezing mountain water all over the still-unconscious spy.

She shrieked.

Lu Ten flinched.

* * *

This couldn't be happening. Not to her, not now.

"She's still alive anyway."

Deep voice. Scrambled memories rose to the roof of her mind. Same voice, shouting and screaming curses as her friends and leaders shot past him in the dark. Swords flashing, screams of pain, the cry to retreat.

Blood on the grass.

And pain.

Aches cramped around the base of her skull, reminding her more than ever of her continuing existence on the earth. A hand – warm, heavy and stinking of sweat and human waste – shoved her back onto her back, not roughly. Stars burst before her eyes and she gasped aloud from the pain. Her body curled up like child's, knees pulled tight to her chin, arms wrapped around her legs. The instinct to protect, to minimise the inevitable damage to her body was overwhelming. Haneli screwed her eyes shut and prayed for speed.

"Looks like you hit her pretty hard, my lord." Was that disapproval in the deep voice?

"She was trying to run. What was I supposed to do? At least one of them had to answer for the insult." Second voice. Different this time but still foreign. "Have any of the men got to her?"

"Not that I can see. There'd be more blood if they had."

"Assuming she's still untouched." Impatience flooded the second voice. "Pull her over sergeant. Let's see what we have."

Grumbling. Deep-voice wasn't happy with something and he was in a high enough position to point it out without being beaten. Second in command? Personal friend? Did mercenaries _have_ friends?

"Come on, sweetheart…" The hand brushed over her breasts and tightened along the soft skin and hard muscle of her upper arm. His fingers were bitten back to the blood-specked quicks. Dirt was ingrained tightly along the minute skin-folds on his fingers. The thumb dug in deeply and she bit back another cry as it touched bruised muscles. "Over we go."

Who do you think you're kidding, you Fire Nation son-of-a-

Then she saw him again.

* * *

"That went well."

"If you're trying to be _funny_…"

"I'm serious," Tong still couldn't suppress the smirk on his face. "Think of it. She could've actually had a knife."

"Well, isn't that a comfort," Lu Ten muttered, absently rubbing the long, red-raw scratch that stretched from the corner of his left eyebrow, down to the curve of his jaw. The entire camp was full of knives; swords and various other objects designed to inflict pain. Unless she was knocked out regularly night and day, it wouldn't be long before the hellcat got something sharp into her paws and went after him to finish her interrupted mission.

"Pretty girl though. If you like that type of woman." Tong slid the sharpening stone up and down his sword in rhythmic strokes. "Looked nice and soft too. Mmhmm…nice curves. You saw her curves I suppose."

"Keep your mind on the job, sergeant."

The sword was checked, one brown eye squinting down its length. "Unusual eyes too."

"Who has unusual eyes? …Boss." Rechyo checked himself under the fierce golden gaze.

"No one you need worry about, Rechyo. Get back to work." Rechyo's reputation with women was well known to his captain. The glare hardened as the burly ex-deserter lingered, his small eyes bright with hopeful greed. "I said," The shadows filtered and danced as Lu Ten stood up, towering over his man threateningly, "Get back to work. Or do you need another reminder?"

Since Lu Ten's last reminder had left Rechyo with two broken ribs and a fractured nose, the mercenary stepped back, backing down from his leader. Some of the men glanced up, their eyes uncaring for their comrade. A mercenary's life was rough but that didn't make them animals. Close enough during battle perhaps, but never complete savages. There was divide there that few of them cared to cross.

Rechyo did though. Often. Especially when women were concerned.

Keeping a cool eye on Rechyo, Tong continued sharpening his blades. "Never thought to see a Northlander wi' grey eyes."

Lu Ten said nothing.

"Sure about not beddin' her? You seemed t'be holdin' on pretty tight for a man what don't care."

The captain cleared his throat loudly.

"Seemed t'be holdin' on pretty tight to you too, come an' think of it…"

Grey eyes floated once more to the top of Lu Ten's mind.

"Couldn't lose us any money on the slave market anyway, whether she's untouched or not…"

"Tong."

"Yes, my lord?"

"_Shut up_."


	4. Not Quite My Enemy

**

* * *

******

Drops of Silver

* * *

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING.

My beta reader, SongoftheDarquePhoenix brought up the question about Haneli being 'Northern'. Haneli belongs to a race or tribe of people known as the 'Northlanders' (after the mountainous area they live in) or occasionally 'Northern' in casual, every-day language. So in the context, 'Northern' refers to the her tribe, not the region.

Any other queries or questions, PM me! Or leave a review with the question in it and I'll get back to you within the week.

And now back to the story!

* * *

_Without something to hate, we should lose the very spring of thought and action._

-- William Hazlitt

* * *

"I suppose," Haneli muttered to herself crankily. "I should be grateful that he hasn't killed me." _Yet_.

She rubbed her head up and down the rough mat in a vain attempt to extinguish the ever-present itch in her scalp. Lice hadn't affected her for years. Not since her aunt had plonked her down one summer afternoon she had come home from the harvest fields scratching like a dog and towed her prized cedar wood through Haneli's then-long brown hair. After that ordeal, she'd sat her nieces down and terrified them into awe with her horror stories of the lifetime of _pediculosis humanus capitis_. This had instilled a devout reverence in them for the care and attention of each of their individual heads of dark brown hair.

Even in Kalinka, she'd kept up her strict routine of hair-care and monthly delousing. Kanaye used to laugh at her.

"_Come on, Haneli. Kalinka isn't _that _dirty you know." _He would tease her.

Huh. That was all _he _knew. Haneli repressed a small shudder as she remembered the rank smell of raw sewage that had assailed her nostrils when she had first entered that beautiful city by the sea. It had been so alien to her Northlander nose that she'd nearly turned tail and run. If it hadn't been for Sar at her back, urging her on, she would have.

Even now, among the flat, rolling hills of the central plains, her nose wrinkled in memory of those first few days in the bustling city. The high, five- or six-storey high houses, the constant rumble of feet and wheels across the paved streets, the brawling of the peddlers fighting for dominance and most of all the sheer crushing volume of people had unnerved her completely. It still unnerved her a little. How could so many people actually live together in such a sea of grey and peach stone? Did they ever get sick of it all? Did they ever long for wide green spaces and endless skies?

She'd rarely seen the sky in Kalinka's Lower City. Only the occasional blue square through the maze of walls and washing that was strung between apartments and houses. Such claustrophobia had nearly killed her at first. It had been like suffocating, only so slowly no one else seemed to notice.

But she'd grown used to it. After time it only became an annoyance.

Like this gods-cursed itch.

Irritably, she shoved her head up against the woven strands of straw, hoping against hope for some reprieve. Brown hair flew into her face, fluffy like a kitten's fur. She blew at it, her lips puffing out like a trumpet-player.

It stuck fast to her lips.

A strangled noise of rage broke out from her. This was intolerable. Worse than any torture she'd ever heard about. If only she could goddamn _scratch_!

Unfortunately, her vigilant jailers had taken every precaution to secure their newest prisoner. They'd left nothing to chance, protecting their own miserable hides as far as the reaches of the human intelligence could.

They'd tied her hands behind her back.

The bastards.

One bastard in particular. The tall one. Second Voice. If she were a betting woman – and if she actually had any money to bet _with_– Haneli would have put a hundred gold on the fact that _he_ was the one to tie her up again. It seemed like the type of thing a man like that would do. Bastard.

_Well, you did try to kill him._ An apologetic voice whispered in her head. _That might have something to do with it_.

"Shut up." Haneli growled before she could catch herself. Then she sighed again.

Great. She was talking to herself. Now she knew the itch was driving her insane.

Haneli huffed, gusting the air through her nose. Pleasant though it was to reflect on the various disgusting and painful tortures she'd love to inflict on that insufferable asshole, it wasn't helping her situation. Shoving aside the glum little voice that asked what she honestly thought she _could_do to improve her circumstances, the spy focussed her energies into rolling over onto her back. Staring at the ceiling of her canvas prison couldn't be any worse than staring at the walls.

She shuffled her shoulder as best she could until her entire body was lying at about a seventy-degree angle to the floor. Now more unbalanced than stable, it didn't take much to fall back onto her shoulder blades and roll over onto her back. She could the tips of her knees rising up in the same cramped position they had held before, roughly bound into a kneeling position that ensured she would never be able to stand. Never able to run.

She bit back another curse. They'd tied her legs too. Then again, maybe she was lucky, she reflected bitterly. They hadn't gagged her. Not yet.

Fighting the discomfort and pain that had come from falling so heavily onto her bound hands, she bit her lip and tried to heave herself up. It shouldn't be too hard. After all, she'd done enough sit-ups during her training days to make it as easy as snapping her fingers.

She surged upwards, holding her breath to give her strength. That reflex action had never been broken from her, not matter how much logic had agreed with instructors when they'd ordered her to breath _with_ the action. Logic didn't work here. She was prisoner. Right now, instinct was a goddamn sight more trustworthy than cold-blooded reason, she thought self-righteously…

…Or maybe not. A spasm of pain cut across her lower ribs. It shocked into her sending her back to the ground, gasping with surprise.

First attempt was bust.

Gritting her teeth, Haneli forced herself to try again. Her bare heels scrabbled uselessly at the ground. Breaking instinct, she puffed desperately, forcing muscles to work. Muscles that had never failed her before.

Muscles that didn't fail her now.

It was euphoric, achieving even this small victory against her enemy. Her head felt like it was full of air and winds. Empty and hollow. She gulped down air, trying hard to dispel the strange feeling of airy lightness that spilled out of her head and trickled down across her body. It was a terrifying feeling – for her, for an Earth Bender. As if she had been detached from the very ground she was sitting on.

Her toes felt numb. Cold. She tried to bend them, to feel the dirt grit between the skin of her toes and the ball of her foot. Reassure her that there was no need to worry, no need for the rising panic that was bubbling up in her throat like bile.

She felt the tiny boulders of packed mud as if on another plane. They rolled along her skin and she _could_ feel them. But it was as if there was a barrier of cold, ice water between her skin and her bones… She couldn't describe it. Not really. It was just a sense of suspension, of floating. She felt like a heavy sack of grain, moving clumsily through the air. She shifted her feet. The scrape of hard earth tore her skin but only the pain registered. The comforting feeling of pushing against an immovable force was gone.

Once, when she had been young, she'd seen a man who'd cut his foot in the fields. Foolishly dismissing the wound as trifling, he'd continued working and ignored it. Two days later, it had swollen to twice its size and he was moaning constantly in pain. White pus was surrounded the wound like a macabre cushion. Seeing it, she had shuddered with the typical delight in the disgusting that comes with childhood. She had been convinced that this would be the man's new foot.

The valley doctor, Shy-Tzu had laughed when she had asked him that. She had been a laughable child back then. Big eyes, too big for her face, wild hair with leaves permanently embedded in the mess and scrubby knees beneath the tunic-and-shorts combination that every Northern child wore in summer.

No, he'd assured her. It wasn't Qu's new foot. It was just a wound gone bad. Patiently, with no eye to the many other calls and patients waiting for his precious time, he sat down on the rock by the pathway and explained. Explained how the pus was like a barrier between the flesh and the skin, poisoning the body from the inside.

That was how she felt now. Like her entire body was filled with some type of puss, separating her skin from her flesh and organs.

"Well, well. Looks like ye're alive an' kickin' after all."

Fear coursed through her like ice. Grey eyes flashed around, trying desperately to see over her own shoulder. Useless. All she could see was the outline of a man. A man. Like that would help her. The entire camp was filled with men.

"S'all right, sweetheart. I don't go for the whole bondage thing." Callused hand closed over her bound legs, one hand on each ankle. Haneli bucked.

"Easy, sweetheart. I'm the nice guy round here."

_In your dreams, mercenary. _She kicked out again. A low chuckle mumbled across from her. With more gentleness than she had thought a mercenary could muster, the ham-like fists pulled her around on her backside, swivelling her like a particularly expensive statue.

Carefully, the scraggly haired soldier lowered her feet to the ground, not letting go until both limbs were resting comfortably against the earth. Then he lifted his head and flashed her a quick grin. She scowled back.

"Ah, can ye show a man a pretty face? Nice girl like you, betcha have a lovely smile." He teased. One chapped brown hand reached forward and chucked her indulgently under the chin, like a besotted uncle. Unmoved by the friendliness, Haneli flinched away from his grip. She was tempted to spit into his hand (which smelled vaguely familiar) (should it smell familiar? Should anything in this camp be familiar?) but refrained. Just enough.

"Not friendly, are ye? And t'think I defied orders and get ye some food."

Haneli did her best to emulate Kanaye's haughty I-don't-give-a-shit-about-you look: raised chin, raised nose, eyes pointedly marked in the other direction. It was a wonderful move. Perfectly formed, just enough to freeze any further attempts of their being a _you and me_ in the crazy war of _them against us_. And to pretend that she wasn't really hungry at all. Hunger was weakness. She couldn't afford to show weaknesses.

Then her stomach growled.

The man chuckled again. Did he ever stop with that irritating cheerfulness? "Sounds like ye want it."

_Silence. Silence is the best thing for scum like them..._

"I'd rather eat ostrich horse dung, if that's all right with you."

"So ye _can_ speak."

Daggers glared at him from a pair of wide grey eyes. Unperturbed, the brown haired man dragged a tin plate piled high with stew around to the space between them. "Thought ye were dumb for a moment."

"Fuck off."

"I'd love to." He agreed regretfully. "But it's me mother, y'see."

"Your _what_?" She was curious despite herself: people had always intrigued her.

"Me mother, Agni bless her soul. Passed on seven years ago, 'fore I was sent 'ere." He paused.

Haneli rolled her shoulders, looking anywhere but at her… her what? Her enemy? Hardly. Not after he brought her food (unless it was poisoned, she thought cynically). Her friend? She shuddered at the very thought.

So what then? Her what?

He was waiting for her to say something. What could she say? I'm sorry? We've something in common, buddy?

"It happens." She muttered eventually, forcing the words out through gritted teeth.

"True. Anyway, me mama. Great woman. Could've pulled down Ba Sing Se wi' 'er wooden spoon if they'd let 'er. As it was, she hammered me when I weren't nice to wimmin. It sticks."

Tong saw the spy narrow her eyes at him. One unplucked eyebrow rose. A pair of lips pushed out into a curious pout as if she wasn't sure to trust him or no.

He didn't smile, knowing it would make her even more wary, Instead he kept the same pose he had come in with: regretful, resigned and firmly under the cat's paw.

"…Are you serious?" Her voice was cautious, like an anxious mother asking the doctor for the bad news she already knows. He kept the face, pushing the stew closer and closer to her foot.

"Would I lie?"

Wrong question_._

"I'd expect anything of a _mercenary_." The girl retreated into her blind hate once more, spitting out his profession like it was a disease. "I bet you'd _sell_ your mother if you got enough gold."

If the boss had been in here now, Tong reflected, he would had flown into a deep rage at that insult. The sergeant was grateful that he had slightly more tact. And a far thicker hide. "Gold? Nah, sweetheart. I'd settle for a nice fistful of silver."

The look on her face was worth anything. In an instant, she had dropped from the vicious, haughty prisoner into the innocent he suspected she still was. Her mouth hung open on a round 'o', her eyebrows created two brackets high up on her forehead and her gaping, wide eyes were filled with a mix of shock and disbelief. Content at having hit home, Tong busied himself with trying to find the spoon he'd hidden away in one of his many pockets.

Suddenly, he glanced up, startled. _He was dreaming…_Yellow-brown cat's eyes examined the chained spy carefully, wondering if he was hearing things. "Did ye jist _laugh_ at me, sweetheart?"

Haneli bit her lip. Hard. "No." The pain was enough to keep the giggles down.

Tong shook his head slowly. "Agni's balls, ye Earth people are strange!" He dug the spoon into the comforting mush of meat and sauce. "Wanna eat, chick?"

She was going to refuse again. He just knew it. The girl was so easy to read, it was incredible she'd ever become a spy. And young too! What was she? Seventeen, sixteen? A girl like that had no business at the war fronts. She was better off at home, with a nice boy coming to court her and a home to keep. Woman's stuff and a nice safe life.

But the memory of the hellcat scratch down his captain's cheek kept all such observations firmly within Tong's lips.

"I can't."

"Ye what?"

She scowled again, insulted at his lack of attention. "I can't _eat_." She snapped. "Not since that arsehole of a mercenary got the bright idea of tying my hands together."

"Well, ye did attack him." Tong said reasonably, keeping his eyes firmly on the stew.

"I_ know_." She snapped again, the hunger beginning to strain her patience. Greedily, she watched as he stirred the meal around and around. "But now I can't eat!" _You bloody idiot_…

He sighed softly and she stiffened. "Well now, why didn't ye jist _say_ so?" He chided her gently. Swallowing the pantomime retort (_I _did_ say so!_) Haneli waited patiently for the knife to appear and to cut open her ropes. The thought of being able to move her wrists again sent a fervent rush of relief coursing through her. Maybe then, the strange buzzing lightness would go away. _I swear, I'll never take being completely healthy for granted again._

Instead, the grizzled old soldier dug the tin spoon deep into the food and held it teasingly aloft. It was almost impossible to read the expression in his serene, bland face as he slowly edged the spoon closer and closer to her lips. The ultimate humiliation.

"Open wide then, chick."

* * *

Golden eyes narrowed in annoyance as Tong tried to slip unobtrusively out of the tent. He had given specific orders to his sergeant that the prisoner was to receive no food – orders he expected to be obeyed without question. If he couldn't control his sergeant, his men would refuse his authority. Once they did that, he would be lucky to survive. Ever since he had become the captain of his band, it had been as if he was walking a razor's edge to keep his sanity and his power. Sometimes, he wondered if one day, he would take that single misstep and fall in the barbarity and bloodlust that made mercenaries so infamous in the Earth Kingdom.

The stocky ex-corporal of the 34th Division began to stroll nonchalantly away from the scene of his crime, the soiled tin plate swinging merrily by his side. Ten steps out from the abandoned cook's tent (the cook having decamped for home after the Kalinkan ambush two days earlier), he began to whistle, relieved that his minor indiscretion wasn't noticed.

He should have known better.

"Sergeant!"

The soldier froze, instinct kicking in. Automatically, he spun around and saluted in the general direction of the voice. "Yessir!"

"Drop the act, sergeant. You're not in the Army now."

The stiff shoulders drooped slightly. "Thank Agni, eh, boss?" He joked weakly. "I mean the food was rotten…"

"That hard bread, huh?" A completely unexpected smile took over Lu Ten's face. "Fit for the cow pigs."

"Eh… not even them, boss."

"True… true…" A friendly arm draped across Tong's shoulders. "And that meat!"

Slowly, Tong began to relax. "'N' the ale!"

The swordsman laughed cheerily. "Worse than dog piss!"

"Yeah…" Tong felt his pulse picking up again slightly as he saw how the black haired Captain had led him away from the main band. "Eh… my lord…" He muttered weakly as Lu Ten bore him closer and closer to the trees. "Mebbe we should –"

Suddenly, he was slammed against the tree so hard, he thought he heard a rib crack. The collars of his shirt were hauled up around his ears as two furious ice-cold golden eyes glared into his own.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you were doing?"

"Boss…"

"I gave specific orders that she wasn't to be given any food! And what did you do? You disobeyed me!"

"My lord, she was starvin'…" The sergeant forced out through the tight stranglehold around his neck.

"You disobeyed my orders, Tong." The Prince repeated coldly, ignoring the twinge of conscience that attacked him at Tong's protest. "Give me one good reason not to kill you now. Maybe…" He let the thought hang in the air for a moment. "Then maybe I might consider it."

Tong considered his options. The pure, unvarnished truth or blackmail. Yellow-brown eyes flickered to where Lu Ten's swords hung over his back, within easy reach of his hand and made his decision quickly.

"She was starvin', my lord. And she ain't feeling good either. 'S the medicine, I think."

"So?" The word was cool with disinterest.

Tong flushed under the younger man's hard gaze. "I dunno… She was young, I 'spect. An' I'd a sister young like that back… back home, my lord. My Da's second wife, y'know and…"

"I didn't ask for your family history, sergeant."

"Yes, my lord." Tong agreed quickly. It was always easier to agree with the boss. Less blood and pain in the long run. "Well… I think…"

"All right, Tong, all right." Lu Ten interrupted irritably. "I understand."

"She was hungry, boss." Tong repeated quietly. Not for any protection for himself. But for the girl.

"I think you've already covered that ground, sergeant." The mercenary returned sarcastically, sending a spurt of anger through his subordinate.

"Yes, my lord." He agreed repressively. "Jist as ye say."

Something akin to amusement flickered across the hard pale features. With a sigh, Lu Ten dropped his hands. Shoving a hank of black hair back from his face, he gave his sergeant a small, half-irritated, half-affectionate smile. "I thought I told you to stop calling me that."

Sensing that the dragon-like rage that had engulfed his master had abated once more, Tong ventured a snort of disgust. "Ye forgit where ye're from an'…"

"Yes, yes, I get it." Though his stance was no where near as friendly as the one he'd posed only a few minutes ago, Tong knew that Lu Ten was no longer furious with him. "So how is our new pet?"

The scraggly haired man pursed his lips. "Cranky. Like all wimmin when they've nothin' t'do. Afraid, jist a bit. And yeah. Hate t'break it t'ye, boss, but she hates your guts. She'd rather see you dangle on the Fifteen-Man Tree than be nice t'ye." He stuck his hands behind his head and watched the other men relax in their unexpected break from that afternoon's training session. "Heard it from 'er own lips." He paused. "So what's the plan?"

His captain didn't seem to hear. Absently scratching the half-healed welt across his cheek, he watched the smouldering fire vaguely. "I thought you wanted to kill her. What's with the change of heart, Tong?"

"Ah." Two burly shoulders shrugged. "She grows on ye. 'Sides, any woman who'll take _ye_ on wi' no more than her own nails has t'be interestin'."

"Mmm…" Lu Ten rubbed his dirty thumb down the side of the welt and winced slightly as the salt from his sweat stung. "Interesting. That's a good word for her. I might use it."

"Use it?"

"To sell her." Catching the look of scandalised propriety on Tong's face, he sighed, irritated again. "What? It's simple. Sell her off to some stupid Army Colonel on or way to General Yuan. It gets her off my hands."

"She won't like it." Tong muttered ominously.

"She'll have to lump it."

"She'll fight ye, when she finds out."

"_If_ she finds out. And if she knows what's good for her, she won't."

Tong shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. "I don't like it. It's not right."

"No," agreed the cold, pragmatic voice. "It's not _right_. It's practical. With any luck, we'll get some money from her, enough to pay off the debt she's cost and maybe a bit over."

Tong felt anger creep up on him again. The girl had shown honour and courage in the ambush. In the Fire Nation these traits were praised and revered. _He_ revered them. And now, the Captain was tossing her aside because it wasn't _practical_.

He fought to keep an even tone. "Think it over boss. Don't rush, that's what I say."

"Of course, I can't rush it. We don't come near a fort for another four days." Lu Ten retorted absently. Suddenly, he glanced over at Tong quizzically, one eyebrow raised in surprise. "Angry, sergeant?"

"No sir."

"You are." His Captain deduced emotionlessly. "You think I should spare her. Well, I am in a way."

"Sendin' her t'be some night-slave or summat to the Army…!" Tong snapped in return. He knew well what happened to young Earth Kingdom girls in the Fire Nation Army, especially in forts when the men could be holed up for weeks, bored out of their skulls and aching for a fight.

"Hardly." The cold voice replied. "Only if she's stupid enough to attract attention."

A strangled noise of fury broke out from Tong's throat. It sounded so ridiculous – like the mixture of a growl and a puppy's squeal – that Lu Ten let out a full laugh, throwing his head back, completely entertained by Tong's pose of outrage. This infuriated him even more. He clenched his fists, broken nails digging like spears into his palms.

"Will nothing I say move ye about that girl?"

A mocking look. "Nothing."

"Very well." With as much dignity as he could muster, Tong began to walk back towards the camp. His back was poker straight and stiff, enhancing the limp he still sustained from a bad thigh injury earlier on in the year. His master watched him, slowly shaking his head in disbelief. For Tong, of all men, to feel so strongly about some girl he met only a few days ago, was ridiculous. Maybe his sergeant was going through an infatuation. If so, it was better to get rid of the wretched spy as soon as possible.

Suddenly, the older man turned around and stalked back toward him. "There is one thing, my lord."

Slipping his swords from across his back, Lu Ten flexed his shoulders carefully against any possible stiffness. "What is it, Tong?"

"Her name." The black haired man blinked up at Tong in confusion.

"What about her name?"

"It's Haneli. Shun Haneli."

* * *

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	5. The Lost and the Grieving

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I do not own Avatar or anything associated with Avatar. However my iroginal characters are my own. Tee-hee!!! (cue evil chuckle) (I'm a megalomaniac at heart...)

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**Go My Own Way**

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_Deep breath. _

_Okay, how can I describe how annoy/pissed off/a thousand other things I am with myself for not updating this? This particular fic, my baby? (As it were) I can't. Not because there aren't enough words in the human language but becuase, well, if I did start the list would be longer than the actual chapter, heh heh... _

_But I am sorry. I'd forgotten how much fun it was to write for Lu Ten and Haneli until I actually started. Then my fickle muse (whom I've just christened Dora) (what can I say, it's 22:32 and the unexpected heatwave in Ireland has done strange things to my brain) Anyway, my fickle muse swung into action and bada-BOOM! _

_Again any questions, just ask! I'm on holidays (yay!!!) so I'll be able to answer them right away. And also, DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!! Reviews mean white chocolate buttons. White chocolate buttons mean happiness! _

_AmicableAlien _

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Lu Ten rolled over on his pallet and glared at the orange glow the camp fire passed through his tent canvas. His mental clock told him it was past two in the morning and he had yet to experience the sweet oblivion of sleep. Irritably, golden eyes swept around the Spartan tent. There was little in it on which to feast the eyes. His dual swords rested on the floor beside his pallet, always within reach. There was a rolled up pack on the side, stuffed with a few spare clothes. A rickety chair wobbled on the uneven ground by the doorway. A slab of hollow wood was next to it, used as a makeshift desk. It was filled with a nearly empty bottle of ink and two cheap brushes. The paper had run out two weeks ago.

That was the total sum of his worldly possessions.

Not for the first time, Lu Ten mused on how the mighty had fallen.

His elegant apartment in the Royal Palace seemed like a thousand lifetimes away. Instead of the scent of fire-lilies drifting up from the Second Sunken Garden, there was a tang of burnt meat and wood-smoke on the air. Instead of linen and silk sheets, he was rolling around on a coarse wool pallet, stuffed with straw. And he was one of the lucky ones. Some of his men had little but a blanket separating their bodies from the cold damp ground.

Ah well. When they reached the fort they might be able to set up in an inn for a night or two. Sleep on clean sheets. Eat proper food.

Maybe the proceeds from the Kalinkan Tong was so infatuated with would enable him to stretch the stay to a week. A week with clean sheets would be nice. It would be very nice.

Sweet Agni, he must be going insane. A week in a low-class inn was suddenly sounding like Paradise. Who would have thought that Prince Lu Ten of the Fire Nation would one day like awake at two in the morning fantasising about clean sheets? A beautiful women, yes. Power and glory, yes. Sheets without lice or stains?

Just one more sign that the spoiled Prince Lu Ten was dead. The Prince was dead, long live the mercenary.

If only he hadn't taken that offensive at Ba Sing Se. If only he had given in to the fever that was beginning to make him dizzy and sick. If only he had seen the ambush in time. If only…

If only there hadn't been a war.

But then if there hadn't been a war, where would he be now? He'd have no job. No money. He could be forced to work as a labourer just to survive. As a - shudder - farm-hand. Earning a pittance instead of earning a reputation.

But if the hadn't been a war then he could be back in the Royal City. The world at his feet. His grandfather's heir, his aunt's darling. Hero of his nation without having to lift a finger. Everything a man could ever want.

Instead he was here. In some gods-forsaken patch of earth in the god-forsaken Earth Kingdom with a band of glorified murderers and a spitfire who wanted to slit his throat tied up just a few tents away.

Agni really took some sick pleasure out of kicking a man when he was down.

Throwing off the suffocating blanket, he shook the last dregs of sleep out of his head. Thinking about his situation only made it seem worse and he'd never worked well with self-pity. Came with the territory. If you indulged in self-pity in the training grounds back home, you'd get a fireball up your ass to wake you up.

He didn't bother with a shirt. The cold would wake him up and anyway the shirt had blood stains on it from the ambush two days ago. He wasn't finicky. Three years living rough had cured him of that. But he drew the line at wearing a shirt covered in someone else's blood all the time. So out went his last shirt. Maybe there was a laundry at the fort.

Clean shirts as well as clean sheets. That sounded bearable. He could put up with Lord Arse-licker of the Eighth Battalion for that.

The moon was beginning to show in the velvet sky when he looked up. It was a white sickle, barely casting enough light to see by. The dark humps of the tents were visible only by the light of the dampened fire. He could hear snorts from the canvas mounds. Snorts and snores and the occasional moan. All of his men, sleeping like the innocent babies they weren't.

He moved quietly down the length of the tents, not quite sure where he was going. The sentry on guard duty was slumped over the rock he used as a seat, like a collapsed puppet. Obviously asleep. He'd roar him out of it tomorrow morning and set him on slops for the rest of the month but for now, Lu Ten let the man sleep. It wasn't like they were going to be attacked tonight. He could feel it. Everything was calm and the night owls were howling away happily in the distance. No eerie stillness, no sense of being watched. The ostrich horses, hobbled away from the tents, were quiet and sleeping. The breeze whispered through the long grass that foamed across the hill, serene as a goddess's breath. It prickled across his bare skin, making him shiver slightly. He scowled and wondered if he should go back from his shirt. Which was worse? To be covered in someone's dried blood or to freeze to death?

He'd reached the end. He hadn't realised that. What was wrong with him? He never thought this much usually.

Gods that sounded pathetic. And the really pathetic thing was, it was true. He usually never did think so much. Things were simple. Keep his men in line. Feed them. Feed himself. Sleep. Stay alive. Stay in control. Most of all stay in control. If he lost control of anything – his men, his position or himself – he was just holding out a knife and begging to be killed.

And now he was thinking. Thinking and hypothesising and musing when he should be concentrating on staying alive and dragging every gold piece he could out of the Eighth Battalion. All this who-am-I and where-do-I-come-from bullshit.

It was her fault.

That spy, that… assassin. Whatever she was, it was her fault. He knew it. She was causing this. He glared at the crude tent that was her prison as if he could see her face. The breeze picked up slightly, making him shiver again. He hadn't thought about his past in weeks… Months. He hadn't needed to. He was living the life of a mercenary, sometimes good, sometimes bad. Then the Kalinkans had to attack and she had to be left behind. Her with all her bullshit about being someone and the importance of a name. Names were like used clothes: expendable and unnecessary. And anyway, what self-respecting spy gave her real name to her captors? Who the hell was this girl that she was that goddamn stupid?

Maybe she was a trap. Maybe they had planted her there and… He shook his head and growled. She had him thinking in conspiracy theories now.

This was ridiculous. He'd been avoiding her like the plague ever since she'd turned on him and scratched his face like a wild cat. True, that was only a few hours. But he knew - none better, he thought bitterly – that with prisoners you had to disorientate them. Scare them. Act as if they were there for your pleasure for whatever you wanted. Screw the rules of warfare. No one outside the theory classrooms of the military academy bothered with them anyway.

He'd go into her. Wake her up. Take a good look at her. Price her. Then walk right out. He knew the effect of being treated like an object, how it ate away at your confidence, at your trust. She would learn to lose hope and in losing hope, she would lose her herself.

He pulled back the heavy sheet. Inside the tent the air was muggy and thick. All the heat of the day had been absorbed by the cloth and it wasn't letting go. The smell of dried blood and rancid grass stuffed the tiny space. He felt a sudden longing to go outside and gulp in fresh air. But he didn't. Instead he ducked down onto his knees and looked at her. The tent was so small; he couldn't stand upright or even bend over. Instead, he was forced to compress his tall body into some kind of crouch on one knee.

She didn't stir. Strangely, she was sleeping. He hadn't expected that. How could she sleep, after all? She was in a camp full of men little better than criminals and murderers. She couldn't protect herself against any of them. No knife or dagger was within a ten foot radius of her. She was a prisoner for Agni's sake and she was _sleeping_?

Women. Bloody _women_. He'd never understand them.

Automatically, he checked the ropes that bound her hands together. Everything was secure. Tong told him he had slipped the medicine into her food before he'd fed her. At least the fool had that much sense. Lu Ten shuddered to think of the havoc an Earthbender could wreck in their tiny camp. He wondered if this one was any good. She couldn't be though, he thought, looking down at her. She was too small. She definitely was no bigger than his shoulder and probably a lot smaller than that. Every good Earthbender he'd fought against had been men, big barrel-chested men. The few women he'd seen were built like Amazons, tall, broad shouldered and muscled. They had been sights to inspire fear and respect.

He couldn't imagine anyone being scared of this girl. She was too young. Seventeen, he thought. Eighteen? Unlikely.

There was very little light in the tent. Only the glow from the sentry's torch outside the door. It wasn't enough for a good evaluation but it would have to do. He'd forgotten to bring a candle with him.

Who was he kidding? He didn't own a goddamn candle.

Her breathing was steady and low. She was still sleeping. He studied her carefully. Strong looking arms and legs. Her bare feet were covered in grass stains and mud but it didn't seem to bother her. Her light tan skin was clear and unmarked by the poxes and plagues that occasionally raced through the Earth Kingdom in summer. Her hair was long. Someone would have to cut that before he sold her. Long hair attracted nits. But it looked healthy from what he could see. Long, down past her shoulders, and dark brown in colour. No signs of lice or baldness. He picked up a strand that had drifted loose and rubbed it between his finger and thumb like he was testing flour. It was soft, he discovered, to his mild surprise. Cool and soft. Some Army Colonel might like that.

He moved back, just a little, his evaluation complete. He should have checked her teeth. Most prospective buyers did. Right now though, he preferred to keep all his fingers. He didn't trust the little wild cat an inch. Her hands might be small and almost dainty but he had no doubt they were covered in blood from the people she'd killed in the name of the Earth Kingdom.

Golden eyes moved up to her face again. He studied it carefully. Her lips were wide and full, made for laughing. She had a small nose and natural eyebrows that followed the flow of her forehead. Long dark eyelashes brushed off her cheeks, hiding a tiny glint of silver.

His face hardened. "Stop pretending, Kalinkan. I know you're awake."

Abruptly her breathing changed back to the regular faster breathing of the watchful. The slit of silver opened up into two wide grey eyes filled with contempt and fear. She wriggled about, trying to sit up. He didn't bother to help her.

When she'd finally managed to shove herself up onto her knees after five minutes, she gathered up the energy to glare at him. He scowled straight back.

Her eyes flickered to the fading scratch on his cheek. She bared her teeth. "I'm glad it hurts."

"It doesn't."

_Liar_. Grey eyes looked at him steadily. She knew he lied.

She looked at him, crouched beside her. For the first time a spasm of panic crossed her face. Then she lapsed into bland immunity. "What are you doing here?"

"Viewing my merchandise." He tilted his head to look at her neck. She flinched involuntarily. "Should be worth fifty… maybe sixty gold. To the right man."

There was a surge of fear in her eyes. She shrank back, crouching low, like an animal awaiting pain. "I won't be sold."

"You don't have a choice, spy. I need the money more than I need you."

"And that's why you're here. To view your merchandise." She spat the words out. But her voice was shaky. He was surprised. Being a slave couldn't be that bad. "Do you think I didn't notice?" She continued, mistaking his surprise. "You lumber like a pig."

So she had noticed him studying her. And she resented it. Well, he was only human. If his eyes lingered longer on her curves, well what did she expect? He liked women. He'd never denied that.

He grasped her chin roughly and lifted her eyes until they were staring straight into his. The skin of her face was soft too and cleaner than he remembered. Maybe Tong had given her a cloth to wash herself with.

Her eyes widened in fear. He could see her suck up her cheeks to spit at him. He pushed his thumb into the corner of her mouth forcing it to open and preventing her from spitting at him.

"Don't think about it, spy." He hissed. "I'm patient but I'm not that patient. Provoke me and I'll see you sold to the first fat-bellied sergeant that coughs up a gold piece."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

"I'll kill myself before I'll let you sell me." She was genuinely scared now. Her breathing was coming faster against his face and she was wriggling to escape from the hard grip.

"Be my guest." He retorted. Abruptly, he pushed her away. She flopped back down and shook her head as if trying to get rid of tiredness or cloudiness. That would be the medicine. It had that effect. He felt a small pang of sympathy for her. Then he crushed it. "One more dead spy makes little difference."

Grey eyes widened. "One more?" She repeated hollowly.

He considered withholding the information from her. Then he shrugged. "There were ten of you?" Silence was his only answer. He took it as consent. "We killed all but two. And you."

She didn't seem to take it in. Her face was as blank as ever, a dead man's face. Then slowly, as if hearing the words from a long way away, her face began to crumple and disintegrate from stone to grieving bewilderment. He watched her coldly. He was used to displays of grief. He could handle them and he knew how to offer just the right blend of encouragement and sympathy. It was something he'd cultivated while in Ba Sing Se where death and loss became a fact of life. His hand used to cramp from all the letters of condolence he would send back to the grieving families in the Fire Nation. He'd become numbed to other people's grief, accepting it as a way of life. But there was something in the girl's face that made him uncomfortable and intrusive. Her grief at the deaths of her friends – if they were friends, which he doubted – was real. He could see it in helpless look in her eyes and deep breaths she took to calm herself. He'd seen before but…

Agni, she was so gods-cursed _young_.

"Don't waste your energy." He snapped abruptly. "They're dead and you have a long walk ahead of you tomorrow. We move fast. Don't expect us to wait for you." He pushed himself to his feet. She didn't look up or move even though his body brushed within an inch of hers. Her body still held the drowsy warmth of sleep. He could sense it and knew that she had been asleep before he'd entered the tent. His skin tightened and he envied her the ability to sleep through her conscience. She would probably be able to drift off again once he was gone. Grief would exhaust her and she'd sleep like dead.

The cool air hit him as he stepped out of the tent. The dew had come while he was in there with her and he could feel it on the breeze. He shivered again.

Sleep was still a long way off for him.

|*#*#*#*#*#*#*#*|

Haneli felt sick.

Her hands were trembling and cold. She could feel sweat cool on her skin and turn it clammy and numb. Her stomach heaved but she couldn't retch or even speak, her throat was so closed up.

Dead. Sweet Hatai… Seven of them. Seven of her people. They were all dead. Numbly she wondered which ones. Maybe Hawk… No, Hawk had to survive. And Bear. No one could kill Bear. She was too strong, too brave.

Oh Gods, she prayed Kanaye was alive. Please, please let Kanaye live. She didn't know how she could keep working; keep fighting if they took another friend.

She tried to imagine Kanaye. The green-brown eyes, the long lanky frame. His smile. She couldn't help it. She choked out a laugh when she remembered his smile. He couldn't be lying in that earth. He couldn't be dead.

Seven dead, the mercenary had said. Seven dead. Two survived. And her. It was always her.

Not this time. If she got even a sniff of being sold, she was going to kill herself. She knew that. She could go through hell but slavery was worse than hell. She learned that the first time. When she'd escaped, she'd sworn to keep her independence. She'd kept that vow so far. No stuck up Fire Nation scum was going to change that.

She glared after the fading silhouette. He thought he had caught her. Well, no one ever said Fire Nationals had much brains. This one had less than most if he thought she was going to quietly sit by and be sold like an animal. So she wasn't armed. So she was tied up. It wouldn't last for long. This camp was littered with knives and she had always been good at finding things.

She'd finish her job and then she'd find Kanaye. Simple.

Shun Haneli smiled quietly and settled down to snatch the last few hours of sleep.

* * *


End file.
